


Steve Rogers Whumptober 2020

by Dedicednu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt Steve, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Steve in icy water, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Whumptober 2020, Zombies, graphic depictions of domestic violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dedicednu/pseuds/Dedicednu
Summary: A collection of stories for Whumptober 2020. All of them will involve Steve Rogers in some way, because he looks oh so good when hurt!
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. No. 13 Delayed drowning/ Oxygen mask (serum)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 10. Breathe In Breathe Out  
> The Avengers are on a boat returning home from a mission when they're struct by a missile.

The first thing Steve felt when he regained consciousness was the cold. It seeped down to his bones and shivered up his spine. His legs were numb and the air sat chilled in his lungs. He could hear a rush of water and the echo of groaning metal.

The next thing he felt was sharp, stabbing pain. It raced through his skull and the resulting nausea made him damn near throw up. Steve reached up to touch his brow and that's when he finally felt the icy cold water against his chest. The fog instantly cleared from his brain and Steve sat up with a startled jolt and looked around.

He was laying on the floor of the bunk room, his legs trapped under a large steel beam. Water was flooding in through a large gash on the far wall.

The mission. Oh, Christ, they were still on the boat that was sent to bring them back to the states.

Steve couldn't remember anything after boarding but it was clear they must have been hit with something. The frame of the bed was mangled against the door, the lights above were flickering, and Steve could smell smoke.

Ignoring the rising panic, Steve tried to lift the beam. It was a good three feet in diameter and solid. His muscles strained, his limbs shook, but it still wouldn't budge. Steve tried to pull himself free but a sudden stabbing pain shot through his leg. He cried out and moments later blood seeped out from under the beam to stain the water. 

He heard noises outside. The rest of the avengers were still on board.

"Hey!" He shouted. "In here! Hey!" He pounded on the wall behind him.

Someone tried to open the door but the debris in the water prevented it. "Cap! Steve, you in there?!"

"Tony! I'm here!" Steve let out a relieved breath. Tony would figure this out. "Is anyone hurt?"

A loud thud, probably Tony throwing his shoulder against the door. "Barton and Banner are looking for Romanoff."

The door pushed open and Tony forced his way through. He was soaking wet and his shirt was torn. There was a line of blood on his cheekbone.

"What the hell happened?"

Tony walked around the flooding room, splashing through water that was up to his shins. "This paper boat doesn't have radar but I'm guessing a missile from the island. Apparently, we didn't get all of the bad guys." He grabbed a long thin bar on his way to Steve and wedged it under the pole.

Together they tried lifting the beam. The water had been steadily rising and was now up to Steve's chest. He wasn't sure how long they had until the boat sunk and Steve didn't want to ask. 

The rest of the Avengers came through the door, all equally as soaked and cold. Clint had a limp, walking with his arm over Bruce's shoulders. Bruce had a gash on his arm that was trickling blood and Natasha was holding her side.

They only had a second to register what was happening before Tony demanded, "Get over here and help me."

All four Avengers lined up and grabbed the bar. 

"Keep going!" Tony shouted. Steve pushed against the pole trapping him, gritting his teeth.

Loud creaking echoed in the room. "Almost!"

Just then the bar in their hands bent and snapped, nearly toppling everyone in the water.

"Shit!" Tony cursed, throwing the broken piece aside. "Alright. Just us. Come on, Everyone lift."

Tony and Bruce stood on one side, Clint and Natasha on the other. 

"One, two, three!"

They lifted with everything they had. The beam slowly lifted. Metal groaned and popped, the Avengers grunted and shouted.

But then Steve cried out. "Stop, stop, stop!" They all quickly but carefully lowered the beam. The water surrounding them was full of blood.

"The weight is keeping pressure on the wound." Steve panted for breath, leaning back against the wall. "If you remove it, I'll bleed out before help comes."

Bruce bent over, his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "Bleed out?"

"Yeah," Clint said, "Why can't Steve just He-Man this thing off?"

Steve looks over at Tony, resignation and shame in his eyes. He knew he couldn't keep it a secret for long. Knew his weakness would end up compromising himself or, worse, the team. He'd been selfish.

Tony looked back at Steve and started to say something to the others but Steve spoke over him.

"The serum is failing." He waited a moment, letting it sink in. "It has been for months."

A beat of silence, then, "How do you know?" Natasha stared at him, her face carefully blank.

"It takes longer for injuries to heal. Scars haven't faded. Muscle soreness. Headaches." He glanced at Tony. "I had an asthma attack the other day."

Tony looked at him in shock. "What?! Steve, we made a deal. You said you would come to me if anything happened."

"Tony knew?" Clint didn't bother hiding the accusation in his tone.

Natasha lifted a hand to stop the arguing. "None of that will matter if we don't get Steve out of here."

"We called SHIELD and the coast guard."

"ETA?"

Natasha just shook her head. Tony sighed and met Steve's eyes. Nevermind the injury. Unless the water slowed or help came, Steve was going to drown. Again.

"Alright. One problem at a time. There has to be a mask on this ship. Find it."

The team nodded and left.

Tony turned back to Steve, who was leaning back with his eyes closed.

"You doing ok, Steve?"

"It's good they know."

Keeping it from the team was eating Steve up inside. His 'wait and see' had started after an injury from a bug monster hadn't healed. Steve went to Tony to see if there was some sort of toxin in the bug but the results were negative. Tony asked him to come back if there were other signs. The list of signs were growing. Tony, apprehensive about keeping it a secret, was still researching. Steve, meanwhile, accepted the notion that nothing lasts forever. 

"You really should have told me about the asthma, Steve."

Steve sighed and opened his eyes but his look was vacant. "Captain America. Fighting aliens with an inhaler around his neck." 

"Self pity doesn't suit you."

Steve met his eyes. "Tony, what do I have without this team? Sheild would have me shipped off to some lab somewhere to be tested. No, I'm not doing that. Not again."

Tony was silent, but Steve knew his gears were turning. He knew Tony read Howard's files on project rebirth and knew about the subsequent tests done to prove the serums effectiveness. "We won't let them."

Steve laughed at that. "You can't stop them."

"Yes, we can. We will."

Now Steve was silent. Maybe it was for moot anyway. They were running out of time. The water had continued to rise. Steve could feel it swallowing him, icy fingers rushing up to pull him under. He took a calming breath and tried not to think of the Valkyrie. Water lapped at his chin and Steve took a steadying breath to keep from panicking.

"Hey," Tony said in a calm voice, getting Steve's attention.

Steve opened his eyes and looked at him.

"It'll be alright. We've been in worse jams."

Steve nodded and took a calming breath, but remained silent. Tony offered Steve his hand and Steve clasped it, water splashing between them. He squeezed hard.

"Found one." Clint said as he wadded through the water and into the room, a full face diving mask in his hand. His hair was wet and there was a tint of blue to his lips. They'd all been trapped in the water for over an hour now.

Tony smiled at Steve. "See? All good."

Clint handed over the mask.

Tony took it. "I'll stay with him, go wait for help." As the others left, Tony helped Steve slip the mask over his head. Steve adjusted the straps while Tony made sure it was straight over his face.

"Deep breath," Tony joked as he wedged the end of the tube between some pipes high above the water. No oxygen tanks were found yet but this would have to do.

Steve rolled his eyes at the joke but still took a calming breath as the water rose over the bottom of the mask. His breath fogged the front in rapid puffs as he started to panic. 

"We'll get you out, Steve," Tony reassured, gripped Steve's shoulder. Steve fumbled for Tony, grabbing at his shirt before clutching his arm.

"Easy, big guy. Slow breaths. You got this."

Steve fought to keep his head above water as long as he could but soon the icy tendrils reached higher and higher and pulled Steve down.

Steve's grip on Tony turned painful and Tony squeezed his shoulder. He could just barely make out tuffs of blond hair under the water.

Tony allowed himself to close his eyes and let himself feel the desperation and despair that he'd been hiding from Steve. He wished he had his suit! He'd been careless during the mission and sent out an EMP to disrupt the bad guy's weapons, which also included the Iron Man suit. Steve hadn't wanted him to but Tony could see no other option. The bad guys lost and they won. End of story.

Except, if he had the suit now, he could have lifted this beam and flown Steve out of here.

Thank fuck they found a mask. A super soldier might have been able to hold his breath, but Steve wasn't really a super soldier anymore, was he? And fuck him for not telling Tony about the asthma. What if he had an attack in the middle of the night and died because his damn pride kept him from telling anyone? 

Well, Tony refused to let this little problem defeat him so as soon as they get out of this hellhole he was going to lock himself in the lab and figure out what the hell was happening to the serum.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, water up to his chest, waiting. He could hear the soft whooshing of tightly controlled breathing coming through the pipe. It was obvious Steve was trying to stay calm despite having been trapped beneath the water for twenty minutes. His grip on Tony's arm hadn't relaxed. The thought of leaving Steve to help the others didn't even cross his mind. 

"The coast guard is here!"

"Fucking finally! Tell them to hurry!"

Tony took a breath and ducked into the murky water.   
Tony could just see Steve's face through the mask. His eyes had been closed tight but he opened them when Tony moved. Tony met his gaze and gave a thumbs up. Steve visibly relaxed and returned the gesture.

Tony came back up and shook the water out of his hair just as the coast guard come through the door.

"Get something to lift this beam! This is Steve Rogers here! Hurry!"

The beam was strapped to a counter weight and everyone, six coast guardsmen and the rest of the Avengers, all pushed to lift the massive pole. The instant it was up, Tony pulled Steve free from the beam and out of the water.

Steve still gasped and scrambled to grab hold of whatever he could to keep himself afloat.

"I gotcha... I got ya." Tony pulled Steve's mask off as the coasties grabbed for him and quickly hauled Steve out. Then they reached for Tony, who was more than willing to get the fuck off of this boat.

Problem one checked off. Now onto problem two...


	2. No. 15 Into The Unknown (zombies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony are being chased by a hoard of zombies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 15 Into The Unknown  
> Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong
> 
> So, I did none of those examples but... ZOMBIES!!

"Steve, come on, we have to keep going!"

The world spun around him in swirling blues and greens. His ears were ringing. A dark shape was hovering over him. The cold wet grass soaked through his tattered shirt. His heavy breathing echoed in his head. 

Tony grabbed at his clothes and everything rushed back with sharp clarity. Steve gasped in a rush of cold air, blinking up at Tony as he pulled at his arm and hauled him back to his feet. 

"Steve, hurry, we have to go!"

A searing pain tore through his hip, but he ignored it as he struggled to stand. The injury was old and persistent and never failed to remind Steve it was there but he couldn't let it slow him down now. He limped after Tony and looked up through the brush of trees at the cliff edge they’d jumped from. No signs of the dead but they’ll be on top of them soon. Nearly a hundred walking, rotting corpses were chasing after them.

They stumbled through the dense trees until they burst through a large field and Tony stopped to look out over the vastness. 

"There! I see it. Come on. We're almost there," Tony breathed heavily next to him.

Steve doubted he could make it that far but he kept his mouth shut and kept taking one step after the other. The shed they spotted earlier grew closer and closer, and that's when Steve felt his leg start to give. Tony wrapped an arm around him, his fingers digging into Steve's ribs, taking his weight. 

Weeds had overtaken whatever crops had once grown here. Their winding vines threatened to trip them with every step. The mud from the water logged field clung to their boots. The suction of the mud caused pain to shoot up his leg with every step. Fuck! He had to keep up. Not because Tony would leave him but precisely because Tony would never leave him. If Steve fell, Tony would stay behind. Steve couldn't be responsible for Tony getting himself killed.

So he took step after agonizing step, thankful for Tony's steadying arm around him.

Just then a vine snagged around his boot and the sudden jerk had Steve crying out in pain. He went down hard, inadvertently taking Tony with him.

"Fuck!" Steve shouted, panting as he tried to breathe through the pain. He pushed up from the ground, his hands slipping in the mud and the barbs from the vines cutting his hands. Tony shouted at him and pulled at Steve's arms, his own hands struggling to grip with the mud covering them. 

Steve found his footing and the two men continued. Finally, finally they made it to the gray painted shed. Steve leaned against the side as Tony fought to open the door. 

Steve took a breath and waited, closing his eyes and trying to calm his breathing. He wouldn't be of any help here. 

"Fuck!" Tony slammed his fist against the wood.

Steve, hunched over and panting, managed to laugh. "Locked, isn't it?"

"Fuck!" Tony cursed again. He grabbed the handle and jerked it repeatedly, apparently hoping to break it. The metal padlock bounced against the latch but held strong. 

Steve looked behind them. The hoard was just entering the clearing after tumbling down the same cliff Steve and Tony had jumped. "Tick tock, Tony."

Tony stood back and kicked the door. The mud made it slick, but the wood still creaked. Another kick. Not an ideal plan, Steve thought, as they kinda needed the door to be able to shut but they were running out of options.

The lock held firm. 

Tony dropped to his knees and brushed aside the sodden leaves, frantically looking for....anything. Steve could see that Tony's hands were shaking. Steve winced at the pain in his leg and braced his hand against the little window, his wet palm smudging the caked on dirt. Steve stared at the window frame, wondering if they could possibly squeeze through it, when he saw something small and shiny hidden in the corner, nearly buried under spider webs

"Tony!" He shouted, grabbing the tiny key.

Tony looked up, his eyes going wide when he saw what Steve held in his palm.

Seconds later and the two men were safely inside the shed and Tony braced his back against the door.

"No lock on the inside. We have to block it with something."

Steve sunk to the floor while Tony blocked the door with whatever he could drag over. Steve pressed a hand to his right hip and stretched out his leg. The rain had made it ache terribly and between that and his hand, Steve felt essentially worthless when it came to keeping them alive. He watched Tony pile two crates full of rusted tools on top of each other and then two saw horses on top of that. 

Steve looked around. It was a small shed, approximately 8 feet squared and was apparently used to store tools for the field. It was crowded but the two men fit comfortably inside.

Tony stepped back and looked around. A little work bench took up one wall with a metal folding chair pushed in under it. Steve was leaning against a set of shelves and across from him were a series of long gardening tools that were hung on the wall.

"That'll have to do until they pass."

Steve took a slow deep breath and tried not to think about it. This wasn't the first time they've been shoved into a small space. They’ll just have to wait it out. 

Tony settled next to him. What a fucking day. Starving, running, and now soaking wet and huddled together in this shed trying not to freeze to death. Steve's leg was quickly stiffening up on him and throbbed terribly, his lungs burned with the cold air, and the gash on the back of his head was still seeping blood 

They were two battered men, struggling and nearly failing to survive in this hellscape of a world. Mourning the past never helped, but oh how Steve mourned.

Then he felt Tony give his leg a reassuring pat, the “buck up, kiddo” left unsaid, and Steve realized they were alive. Relatively safe. Still together. From the start of it all to now. They were still alive. Steve took a steadying breath and nodded. 

"You going to be okay in here?" Tony whispered.

"Better than out there."

They sat in silence, listening to the sound of the hoard getting louder as they got closer. Shadows soon broke though the beams of light, and so did the horrible sounds of groaning. Steve could hear their bodies bumping against the shed. The tools that hung on the walls began to clank and wobble.

Steve's heart sped up and he tensed, trying not to think about the eighty or so bodies pushing against the wood. Tried not to picture the force of them causing the entire structure to collapse and crush them under it. 

Deep breath...

It took nearly an hour for the last of the hoard to ramble past and Steve managed to keep it together. 

Maybe it was getting easier... 

"Steve?"

Steve opened his eyes and looked at Tony. "I'm good. Let's see what goodies we can find."

Now that imminent death wasn't right outside, they took the time to explore their surroundings. 

The world may be different but they were still a team. Maybe missing a few members but Steve held out hope they could find the others. As long as they watched each other’s back they’d make it through this.


	3. No. 16 Hallucinations (Serum)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's serum may be failing, but pain killers still don't work for him. Tony decides to concoct something for the semi-Super Soldier. Of course, it doesn't work the way they hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallucinations! I also plan to do another Zombie chapter so I included what verse these chapter follow in the chapter titles. This will be part of the Serum verse. 
> 
> Pre-Winter Soldier.

Steve thought he was supposed to be on a cloud about now. Floating. Light and fluffy and calm and relaxed. 

Steve felt none of those things. Instead, he was trapped in a body that had been completely cut off from the impulses of his brain that was screaming at him to move. Anyone who saw him would assume he was perfectly relaxed. His team certainly did when they last checked on him. He could hear Tony clap his hands together and declare his SDS, Super Drugs For Steve, a success! They thought he was asleep and pain free.

He wasn't.

He was awake and conscious, laying limp on his bed at Avengers Tower. He first felt concern when he couldn't lift his arms, but when he wasn't able to even speak or to tell anyone what as happening, the real panic hit him. His couldn't move at all. Couldn't even twitch his fingers or move his head. 

Bless Tony, it wasn't his fault. He tried to create something that Steve could take for pain and it had, initially, worked. Steve had several contusions and fractures from the giants and, while not life threatening, still fucking hurt. So Tony made it a mission of his to find something that would work past the Serum, still there even if weakened, and give Steve some relief.

The pain was gone now, but so was everything else. Steve will appreciate Stark's attempt after he regains the use of his fucking eyelids. His body betraying him is nothing new to Steve. The sense of disappointment and shame was familiar. Different scale, maybe, but the same. He was always either too weak, too sick, or too short. Too poor, too hungry, too much of this but not enough of that. Steve spent his entire life trying to be more and do more but he never seemed to measure up. Then he was given this miracle gift of a serum. Now he could do anything he wanted. He always had determination and grit but now he had the stamina. No more asthma, no bad heart, and no fevers. 

At least, for a little while. Right when Steve felt accepted this was going to be his new life, it was taken from him. Now the question was just how far was this going to go? How much was he going to lose? Was he going to turn small and weak again? He'd never be an Avenger if he couldn't even hold his shield. Stark was running himself to the ground to at least slow it down. Steve just...tried not to think about it. He hated feeling helpless.

Steve felt his eyelids flutter and he caught sight of his darkened room. He could move! Well, he could move his eyes. Maybe he was finally burning through whatever Tony gave him. Steve struggled to focus and saw someone sitting in a chair next to his bed.

 _Bucky?!_ Steve fought with everything in him to sit up, to throw his arms around his friend, but nothing moved. _Bucky! You're alive!_

Bucky sat in the chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He was still wearing his uniform and didn't look a day older than the last time Steve saw him. 

"Jesus, Steve, look at you." 

Steve tried to open his mouth to say something, to make some sort of sound, but he was completely numb. 

"Just as sad and pathetic as you were back then."

A chill raced through Steve, shocked and confused but unable to express it. _Buck...._

"A little bigger maybe, but still a runt on the inside."

Steve closed his eyes. _No. No, this isn't Bucky. It's the drugs. Bucky would never-_

"I always felt sorry for you, Steve. This poor Irish kid in the heart of Brooklyn slums. Middle of a depression. Catholic to boot. I threw you some scraps so you wouldn't starve and you've followed me like a lost puppy ever since."

Steve tried to ignore him. This wasn't Bucky. This was his own head and his own insecurities. Bucky was dead. Had died a long time ago. This wasn't real. He tried again to move.

"Nature tried to kill you a hundred times over. You should have just let it."

 _This isn't real_ , Steve reminded himself. He just needed to wait for the drugs to wear off. Then this will all disappear. 

"I gave everything to you, Steve, and when I needed you the most you weren't there."

_No, that's not true, Buck, I tried-_

"You failed. Like in everything. Lost your daddy. Lost your Ma. Doctor Erskine. Me. Peggy. Who is next, Steve? Who is the great Captain America going to lose next?"

_Stop it! That's not true. This isn't real this isn't real this isn't real..._

When there was a long beat of silence, Steve opened his eyes. Bucky was gone, but in his place was...

 _Peggy!_ A rush of grief mixed with happiness washed over him and Steve didn't even care if she was a hallucination. His eyes swelled with tears and he wished he could reach out and touch her. She, too, hadn't aged. 

She smiled. "Hi, Steve."

For a moment, Steve was glad he couldn't move because the sound of her saying his name would have broken him.

"Is it true?" she asked. "The serum is failing?"

Steve heard the concern in her voice and wanted to reassure her that it was fine. He was adapting and was ok.

Then Peggy sighed and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Shame. We had a nice time while it lasted."

Steve stared at her, not quite sure what she was saying. He wasn't dying....

Peggy apparently read something in his expressionless face and gave a humorless laugh. "Steve, you- You don't think anything can be between us now, do you? Why, we're only together because of the serum."

Steve closed his eyes and prayed for the drug to run its course. _Not real. Not real._

"Could you imagine the pair we would have made without it? Why, I was a head taller than you, and nearly three stones more, I'd wager. It'd be an embarrassment, Steve."

No matter how much he told himself this wasn't real, it still hurt. It hurt because Steve often wondered that himself. Peggy was kind to him but would she had even given him the time of day if the serum didn't work?

"I felt pity for you. You were always so forlorn. I was trying to be nice and then you had to develop your little crush. So desperate for attention, you were."

_Christ, Stark, what the hell did you give me?_

Steve took a long, slow breath, focused on the feel of his lungs expanding, and then a twinge of pain in his left arm. The same arm that had been fractured. The drugs were wearing off!

"Then you were given the serum and, well, you looked... very nice, Steve."

Steve felt the pain throb up to his shoulder and he tried lifting his arm. His fingers twitched.

"I couldn't very well say no aft-"

Steve opened his eyes and looked over where Peggy sat. The chair was empty.

The pain was back, but the drugs were gone and with it the hallucinations. Steve lifted his hand and rubbed at his face. He was going to have to talk to Stark but first he needed to get himself together and get off this table.


	4. Alt 1. Punctured (serum)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team face a monster. Steve gets hurt. Follows the serum verse.

It wasn't every day that the team fought actual monsters. Their resume mostly consisted of a few evil scientists, some aliens, and an occasional Hydra uprising. Easy, standard, and boring part of the job. But legitimate hairy and/or scaly beasts with sharp teeth and claws? 

Fucking crazy, right!?

After the initial shock of seeing a giant monster tower over New York, the team locked on and it was business as usual. It looked like King Kong and Swamp Thing had a baby and tried to drown it. And it stunk. As if that wasn't bad as enough, a hidden goddamn tentacle suddenly sprouted out and wrapped around a leaping Hulk.

"Holy shit!" Someone shouted through the coms. Clint, likely. The sirens and screams and wet, guttural growls made hearing difficult.

Tony increased his booster power and flew in to help. The thing waved Hulk around like a toy, completely oblivious to Hulk's smashing it.

"Really? Is no one going to say anything? A giant tentacle monster and not one joke?"

"We're a little busy, Tony." Cap grunted over the sounds of his shield clanging.

"No one expected one from you anyway, Cap." 

Tony pulled up and shot a beam right at the thick of the tentacle holding Hulk. Swamp Thing let go and Big Green roared and tumbled back to Earth. He grabbed a second tentacle on his way down and Tony fought a gag when he fucking bit it in half, green blood splattering out in a disgusting black shower. 

Tony ducked a flailing tentacle and a blur of red, white, and blue flew in front of him. The force of Cap's shield cut a thick slice in the tentacle and, in retaliation, another shot out towards Steve.

"Heads up, Cap!"

Steve reached out and caught the slimy thing in his gloved hands. 

Gross.

Tony flew back and started blasting off tentacles one by one. Thankfully, this thing couldn't regenerate so Tony quickly reduced it to stumps. It gave one final guttural roar and collapsed down 32nd avenue.

Tony lowered where the team was gathering. Clint avoided the worst of the slime from his perch but Hulk and Natasha looked as if they had bathed in it. Probably from the tentacle shower.

"I feel like the Powerpuff Girls," Tony said. "I'm Blossom and Hulk is Buttercup. Cap is Bubbles, obviously. Natasha, you can be the professor. Clint is the Mayor." 

"Fury is the mayor," Natasha said, wiping slime off her brow with a just as slimly hand. 

"Ah, of course."

"Who am I, then?" Clint asked.

"An extra." Hulks deep voice added sting to the insult. 

"Fuck you."

"Guys, where's Steve?" 

While everyone else looked around, Tony spoke into the com, "ey, Cap, where you at?"

A click, some static, a grunt, and then finally Steve's voice came through, "I'm here."

"You good? What's up?" While Tony spoke, he noticed a band of tiny holes and scratches around Hulk's midsection. They looked equal distance apart and each dripped with a tiny stream of blood. He nodded towards them. "What's that from?"

"Barbs."

Tony frowned, remembering the tentacle wrapped around Hulk. "The tentacles had barbs on them?" That would explain how the holes all looked so precise and how it ripped the tops off buildings. Oh, shit! Cap had grabbed one of them! Before Tony could speak to the com, Steve came up behind them. Tony quickly noticed the way Steve held both hands cupped in front of him, and blood was dripping in thick rivulets between his fingers. 

Tony rushed to him, the rest of the team right behind him. Tony flipped open his face plate and gripped Steve's wrists. Deep, gaping wounds sliced across both palms. "Jesus, Steve."

"I'll be alright," Steve grunted. "Just get the gloves off." Steve's voice sounded tight, but still firm and in control. Which didn't mean much, Tony thought. Steve always sounded in control.

Tony and Natasha shared a look and worry twisted his gut. Tony swore he could see bone and jagged and bloody strips of skin.

Tony's gauntlets retracted to free his hands and he and Natasha gently tried to pry the tattered gloves off Steve's hands while Clint refused to watch but watched all the same. The stiff leather pulled at the wounds. Steve's hands trembled and he grunted in pain. Tony could see him fighting the urge to fist his hands, his fingers twitching and teeth pulled back in a grimace. 

"Easy, big guy," Tony murmured, "Slow and steady." Times like this Tony would have offered his gauntlet hand for Steve to squeeze. Not possible now.

They got the gloves off and they fell to the ground with a wet, bloody, plop. Clint handed over a water bottle and Natasha held Steve's wrists steady while Tony poured the water over his hands. The trembling increased and so did Steve's breathing. The blood washed away and the team got a better look at the damage

Clint let out a low whistle. "Thank fuck for the serum. Think there's enough in you left to help that?"

Steve grunted but didn't answer. Before he wouldn't have even bothered with washing or cleaning the wounds. He couldn't get infections. An injury like this, though? Steve pushed the thought back into the Do Not Open box in his head. "There's pieces of glove inside the cuts."

"Alright. Let's get you to medical before you heal around them. Just in case."

Steve let out a humorous laugh. "Thank fuck for the serum."


	5. No. 18 Panic Attack (zombie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve doesn't like cramped spaces. We learn why. 
> 
> Part of the zombie verse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING** Graphic depictions of domestic violence.

No matter how hard Steve tried to avoid these situations, the universe always found a way to shove him into one. Literally. 

Steve always hated tight spaces. Everyone who knew assumed it was because of the Valkyrie and being trapped in the ice for decades. It was a convenient lie that kept Steve from having to explain the real reason. 

It was that goddamn closet. 

His dad was a mean drunk. The war had changed him. At least, that’s what his Ma told him. Steve didn’t really have any memories of his father being anything other than a belligerent, abusive old man but his Ma often told him of how kind he use to be, how attentive. Steve wondered if she was living her own convenient lie. 

His Ma often tried to hide him in the closet during his episodes but Steve always broke out and protected her. He would get knocked around but he couldn’t let him get away with hurting her. He had to stand up to him. To protect his Ma. Then his mom started locking him in the closet and Steve was too weak to break the door. Sometime she was hit unconscious. Steve would scream and pound and kick at the door, desperate to break out of it. Sometimes his father would laugh at him and walk away, leaving Steve trapped. Sometimes he’d take him out for a beating, too. Steve preferred the later, because then he’d be out of the closet and could be with Ma.

Once, he had an asthma attack while locked inside. He remembered struggling to breathe, of seeing his vision fade around the edges, remembered thinking that he was going die seeing his bleeding mother laying on the ground through the slits of the closet door. 

It happened over and over. Steve hated that fucking closet. Remembered begging his Ma not to put him in there. She would cry and plead with him, trying to reassure him that she just wanted to keep him safe. Steve fought, but his small seven year old frame always ended up locked inside. 

So forgive him for not being totally comfortable being trapped in another closet. Especially trapped with Tony Stark. It was storming and they had sought shelter in a school. Unfortunately, they weren’t the only ones inside.

Steve could still feel his heart pounding from running and he couldn’t shake off the sudden bolt of fear he’d felt when he realized the room they locked themselves into was a small supply closet and not an empty classroom. 

Steve almost suggested they find somewhere else to hide until he heard the zombies pass by outside their door. 

"I got to get out of here."

Tony was startled by Steve's loud voice. He whispered loudly,"Shh! Rogers! Quiet!"

Steve groaned and pressed his hands against the door, bracing his forehead against the solid wood locking them inside. He closed his eyes and took a long slow breath in, long slow breath out. 

He’d be fine as long as long as they got out of here soon. That ‘soon’ became twenty minutes. Then forty five, and now an hour. The hoard had given up on passing through and was now loitering outside the hallway. If they were in a classroom, they could escape through a window. But they weren’t. They were locked inside this small closet. 

It was hot, and Steve was starting to have a hard time breathing. He could feel Tony shift around behind him and he sounded so damn close that Steve had to fight the urge to tell him to back off. Steve felt his anxiety hitch every time Tony’s elbow or arm bumped into him. 

Steve’s breathing soon became the loudest thing in the room. Sweat dripped down his face and he could feel it soaking the collar of his shirt.. He fisted his hands and couldn’t fight the impulse to beat one fist against the wood. 

Tony shifted behind him. “Come on, buddy. Get it together. I need you to stay calm.”

“I can’t stay in here much longer, Tony.”

“I know. I know. Let’s just… Let’s talk about how we’re going to get out here, ok?”

Steve nodded. “Okay. Okay, yeah. They’re not leaving. So we fight our way out.”

“Let’s see if we can find anything in here we can use as a weapon. Think you can help?”

Steve, who had avoided noticing just how small the room was, took a steadying breath and turned away from the door. 

Tony patted his shoulder encouragingly and Steve heard the click click of their dying flashlight flicker on. Then it flickered off. Tony cursed, shook it, and then slapped it on his palm. The light flickered and stayed on. 

Steve looked around but didn’t see much. He assumed it was a janitorial closet, but it looked more like a lost and found. Tony was already digging through a bag of clothes. Steve saw a wooden baseball bat leaning against the wall and he picked it up. It was light brown. Heavy. Had a few chips taken out of it. Steve saw some dried mud smears at the end. It was dark and stained the wood. The longer he stared at it, though, the darker that smear became until it was no longer dry. But fresh and wet. It started trickling down the barrel. It turned red before his very eyes. Thick rivulets of blood oozing down over his fingers. Steve tightened his grip over the bat, watched the blood pool between his fingers. 

He saw Ma laying on the floor, saw his father standing over her, a bloodied baseball bat in his hand. Steve stood shocked still in the closet, a sickening weight in his stomach, his body growing cold and numb. Ma looked dead. He couldn’t see her breathing. His father was looking down at her, his chest heaving in rage fueled adrenaline.

No…. No….

His father threw the bloodied bat on the ground and stomped towards the closet. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off his Ma. His chest was tight and it was hard to get air in his lungs. He killed her…. 

A hand touched him and Steve roared in anger, bringing the bat up and slamming it down as hard as he could. “You son of a bitch!”

“Whoa!!! Rogers!! What the fuck!” 

Steve swung the bat towards the sound, hearing the satisfying crash of glass shattering. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Steve! Stop! It’s Tony! Tony!”

A bright light shone in his face and Steve flinched away from it, bringing up his free hand to shield his eyes. The light disappeared and when Steve lowered his hand, he saw Tony, who had flipped the light around so Steve could see him.

“Tony?”

“Jesus, fuck. Yeah. You back with me?”

Steve frowned and glanced around. He saw shattered glass at their feet and a hole in the drywall next to him. Then he saw the bat in his hand. 

A cold chill raced through him and Steve immediately dropped it. He did all that. In a blind rage he had-… His lungs suddenly seized up and he couldn’t breathe. Just like before. His throat closed up on him and he couldn’t get any air. He looked over at Tony and patted his chest. 

“I can’t-”

Tony’s eyes widened and he rushed over to Steve. “Whoa, okay, no, it’s okay, Steve. Just sit down, it’s alright.”

Tony guided Steve to slide down to the floor. Steve pulled at his shirt, gasping and gulping for air.

“Ton-.. I can’t-...”

“Easy, Steve.” Tony kept his voice nice and calm. “You can breathe, Steve. You’re hyperventilating. This is a panic attack. You can breathe.”

Steve shook his head and closed his eyes, desperately trying to get air in his lungs. 

“Yes, you can. Just take long, slow breaths. With me. Deep breath in through your nose. Come on, Steve.”

Steve clamped his mouth closed and took a deep breath in before stopping on a gasp.

“That’s good. Yeah, again. Come on.”

Steve tried again and this time felt his lungs expand.

“Great. Now slow exhale.”

Steve slowly let out a shaky breath.

“Again. Come on.”

Tony continued to talk him through breathing until Steve was able to finally breathe normally. He was fucking exhausted, though. Slumped against the wall of the closet, shirt drenched in sweat. When Tony asked if he was okay, Steve was able to nod.

“Great.” Tony sighed and shook his head. “What the fuck, man.”

Steve closed his eyes and just focused on breathing.

“Okay. Well. I have some good news and bad news.”

Steve looked up at him, silent.

“Bad news is, there’s nothing here beyond the bat. Good news is we have a way out.”

Tony pointed over his shoulder to the hole Steve had made in the wall. A beam of light was coming through. 

“There’s a classroom on the other side. Ergo windows. Ergo escape. Ready to get the hell out of here?”

Steve didn’t think he ever felt such relief before. “Hell yes.” He held out his hand. Tony grasped it and pulled Steve to his feet. 

“Oh, and I won’t ask now, but we should talk about what happened. In case it happens again. I need to know what’s going on. This is more than just a little claustrophobia.”

Steve hesitated but he knew Tony was right. They were all they had out in this world. It was only fair Tony knew what he was stuck with. 

“You’re right,” Steve admitted. “We will. I swear it.”

That seemed to be good enough for Tony. Together they pulled down the rest of the wall and climbed out to live another day.


	6. No. 19 Grief / Mourning a Loved One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve comes across some of his old belongings.

"Captain Rogers?"

Steve looked up from his sketch to see a young Shield agent standing in the doorway, a cardboard box in his hands. Steve put down his sketch pencil, closed his book, and stood to greet him. "Yes?"

The young man approached Steve and set the box down on the table, careful of Steve's book. "Agent Waters, sir." The two shook hands. "We found this in one of our warehouses. Apparently when you...uh....Well, when the plane... um..."

Steve took pity on the guy. "Crashed into the ice, yeah."

"Yeah. Yeah. So, uh, apparently Shield went and cleared out your apartment. We've had it ever since."

Steve was dumbfounded. He looked at the box. It was slightly larger than a shoebox, a little dusty, with very little markings over it. "You've had this since the 40s?"

The guy shrugged. "I think it got lost in the system. The people who knew about it have passed and didn't tell anyone."

Steve frowned and wracked his brain trying to remember what the hell would have been in that apartment worth keeping. He offered a polite smile and a nod of thanks.

"Thank you, Agent Waters."

"Yes, sir."

Steve decided to take the, surprisingly light, box to his private room at Shield headquarters. He rarely spent time there but it was private and Steve really had no idea what to expect. 

He set it on the counter in the small kitchen and opened it. The first thing he saw was a stack of papers. Right on top was a ration book.

Oh, wow. 

Steve saw his mother's name printed on the front and felt a pang of grief. He flipped through the book, seeing stamps and initials over various dates. The different ink and names and wrinkled pages sucked Steve back in time. Steve remembered standing in long lines, the book, which looked identical to everyone else's, clutched in his hand. 

The ration book didn't get much use since they couldn't afford much anyway, but it was always such a relief to walk out with flour and eggs.

He set the book aside and took out a stack of yellowed envelopes. He immediately recognized his Ma's handwriting and smiled. Some were letters to her from his father. Some were letters she had written him but never mailed. Steve ran his fingers over her elegant script. She would sit at the table writing, usually by candle since the apartment didn't have reliable electricity. She had a habit of laying out the pages instead of stacking them on top of each other. Then she'd gather them all together and fold them neatly. She had kept everything in her dresser drawer and Steve hadn't had the heart to move anything when she passed.

He set the letters aside to read through later. 

Next he pulled out a comb. It was his. It was so surreal to see his own belongings. It had been several decades since it was last used but to Steve it had only been a few years. He remembered using this comb before going to the recruitment offices. 

When Steve picked up another stack of papers he uncovered a necklace and felt a punch in the gut.

His Ma only owned one necklace and she wore it all the time. Setting the papers aside, Steve picked it up. The chain was thin and delicate but the collection of daisies at the end were stiff and heavy. It was so ingrained with his memory if her. Steve remembered her wearing it when she would leave for work or for Sunday Mass. He pictured her face when she would scold him or embrace him. 

Steve also remembered searching for it frantically when she died because she had to be buried with it. She was never without it. Neither he nor Bucky ever found it. 

He carefully set the necklace on top of the papers. Maybe he could have it cleaned and polished. He'd like have it stored somewhere safe.

The next was a small leather pouch and Steve felt his heart freeze up in his chest.

He gently took it out of the box and just held it in his hands. It was small, with a loose ribbon tied around the top. The leather had rubbed off on some areas and the color had faded. Still, Steve knew what was inside. 

He tugged at the ribbon and carefully shook out the contents. A beaded rosary tumbled out into his palm.

It was Ma's. The silver had tarnished with age and the clear crystal beads were now dull. Steve remembered watching it catch the light when his mother prayed. She prayed the rosary every night. Every single night. She would kneel beside her bed, her fingers gently rolling over the beads. Steve remembered being little and walking in on one of her prayers. He apologized for interrupting but she just smiled and ushered him to join her. She carried in her pocket at the TB ward, often saying prayers for the sick there. She also prayed about Steve's health and recklessness.

"St. Monica give me strength with this boy."

Steve smiled as he heard her exasperated voice even as tears prickled his eyes. She was such a wonderful woman. Her love and patience was endless. Steve inherited his blond hair and blue eyes from her. Also, his grit and determination. She came to America with such hopes. Steve asked her once if leaving home was worth it. She had touched his face with a small smile and said, "Always."

When his father died, his Ma worked endlessly to provide for them. Meanwhile, Steve struggled to find lasting work. Manual labor was out of the question. He got a job as a clerk once but was fired after being missing work due to illness. 

He hated it. Hated watching his Ma work herself to death while he did nothing. 

If she could see him now. 

He missed her now more than ever. No one here truly knew him or understood the man behind the sheild. He wished he could talk to her, wished she would berate him one more time about taking care of himself. That he needed to find a nice Catholic girl to settle down with and have babies

He'd tell her all about the experiments, the war, how he found and lost Bucky all over again. He'd tell her there was a vaccine for TB now, can you believe it, Ma? 

Steve stayed in his room for a long time, letting all the different memories of her wash over him.

She would often stand in front of the stove humming. Sometimes she would even sing. Steve closed his eyes and tried remember one of her songs. Her favorite was in Gaelic. Steve could replicate the melody but never learned his mother's native tongue to remember the words.

Steve then remembered the coughing. How she tried to dismiss it at first. Then it got worse, and then worse until she was bedridden.

Steve looked down at the rosary in his hands. The last time his Ma had used it had been when Steve placed it in her hands and said the prayers for her because she was too weak to say them herself. He could still smell the oil Father Michael had used for last rites. 

His last memory was her weakly putting her hand on top of his, the rosary tangled between them. Steve squeezed her hands, tears spilling over his eyes. He told her than he loved her. That he was going to be ok. She can go home, now. 

Then she had closed her eyes for the last time.

Steve sucked in a sudden breath as he came back to the present. He squeezed the rosary in his fist and wiped the tears from his eyes. 

Then he took out his sketchbook and pencil and started sketching, rosary wrapped around his other hand, and sketched every memory he had of his Ma.


End file.
